


A Slytherin's Redemption

by ArielSakura



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Cunning Horace Slughorn, Draught of the Living Death, Failed Plots, Other, Potions, Redemption
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-14
Updated: 2019-07-14
Packaged: 2020-06-28 00:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19801078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ArielSakura/pseuds/ArielSakura
Summary: Marcus Flint has a mission. He's assured of his success. That is, until one cunning Potions Professor steps in and ruins it all.





	A Slytherin's Redemption

**Author's Note:**

> Hi All, This story was written for a competition by the facebook group 'Draco's Den'.
> 
> This story was written for Round 2: Marcus Flint & Horace Slughorn and The Draught of the Living Death

Marcus stalked through the echoing halls of Hogwarts. Ignoring the gossiping twitters and pointed looks from the fourth-year Hufflepuffs. He sneered at them. Satisfied when they shrieked and fled down a side corridor. 

He knew what they were thinking. Knew what everyone was thinking. They all thought him stupid. Thought him brainless. Thought him to be a lumbering hulk of meat good only for physical intimidation. So brainless that he had to repeat seventh-year _twice._ Little did they know that was exactly what he wanted them to think.

What the Dark Lord wanted them to think. 

The first time he had repeated his seventh year, was due to his own follies. He had been too focused on Quidditch. On getting laid. On trivial things other than his studies. But halfway through last year, his first repeat, just as he had been fully investing himself. The Dark Lord had summoned him. 

He remembered that night so clearly, his father had woken him, pulled him from his bed and made sure he was presentable before apparating them to Malfoy Manor. He had been brought before the Dark Lord himself, who was sat in a regal looking chair, his monstrous snake curled around his legs and across his shoulders. 

He had been told he would be the Dark Lord’s own insurance. That he would have the privilege of watching everything unfold at Hogwarts, report it, and then when the time was right. Strike. 

The Dark Mark had burned into his flesh that night, and Marcus had revelled in it. 

He turned a corner, clattering down the stairs into an unused part of the dungeons. He had put his extra time at Hogwarts to good use, exploring and searching out the perfect place for what he needed. And now it was time. 

His last lesson for today was a self-study period. And he intended to use this time to brew. He had purchased an extra large cauldron before coming back to Hogwarts, and thankfully, gathering the ingredients had not been hard. He had picked Slughorn’s brain over the term, asking questions during lessons about the ingredients he would need when they appeared in other potions. Trying to piece together a way which he could make this potion more potent, or less detectable. Anything to increase his success rate for this task he had been entrusted with. He added the powdered asphodel and stirred. Adding an extra quarter turn and he smiled, showing all of his crooked teeth as his research paid off. 

He turned to take up the sloth brain while his thoughts filled with the plan for tonight. He would enter the kitchens, imperio the Head House-Elf; their link to the other elves would ensure the other’s compliance. The house-elves would serve the dinner laced with his potion, and then -once everyone had started to fall asleep, their faces planting into their supper- he would call the Dark Lord. 

Thoughts of elation, victory and pride as he stood by the Dark Lord's side, in a place of honour. For giving him Hogwarts. Giving him Harry Potter. Giving him that Muggle-loving _fool_ Albus Dumbledore. Marcus Flint would be revered. His name would go down in history. And there was no-one to stop him. 

He stirred the last of the potion. Watching as it changed to the palest pink. He smirked, his success was almost assured. 

A soft sigh came from behind him and Marcus spun. 

“Oh my dear lad, I had hoped-”

Slughorn didn’t finish his sentence as he stepped fully into the room and sighed heavily. His face filled with pity, regret and something else. Marcus’s eyes flicked to his wand, laying several feet away on a desk he had placed his belongings on.

“I had hoped I wasn’t right. That I hadn’t unwittingly repeated mistakes of the past.”

“I’m practising,” Marcus grunted, “Don’t want to fail again.” 

He hoped the excuse would work. That Slughorn would buy it. Because who would want to be in his position? Who wouldn’t be trying their damndest to pass their NEWT’s for the third time in a row?

But Slughorn had an uncanny knack of reading people. Of knowing what made them up and how their personalities influenced their decisions. It was what made him so good at his little _club,_ and his saddened expression told Marcus that he saw right through his lie.

Apparently, Marcus hadn’t been as good as he thought at hiding his intentions from Slughorn.

He sneered back, “And what are you going to do about it old man? The potion’s done. And you can’t stop me.” 

He drew himself up to his fullest height. Towering over the short, pudgy Professor, he took a menacing step forward. 

“It’s not too late yet, lad.” 

Marcus’ lip curled some more at the predictable light side antics and he quickened his pace. Reaching forward, one hand twisting in Slughorn’s precious silk-lined robes as the other drew back into a fist. 

His eyes went wide in shock, crossing as the tip of Slughorn’s wand came within inches of his face. He hadn’t even seen the old geezer move. How was he this quick? It was then he noted the drop of aqua in the Professor’s moustache, he had taken a strengthening potion. Something to enhance his movements. He had known this confrontation was coming. 

Marcus began to snarl, moving faster, needing to finish this-

“ _Pertrificus Totalus,"_ Slughorn whispered.

Marcus’ limbs froze and he teetered for a moment, before falling to the side. Slughorn’s fine silk lapel tearing from his robes as the crushing realisation swept into Marcus. He crashed to the floor with a heavy sound. 

‘ _I’ve failed.’_ He thought, _‘I’ve failed the Dark Lord.’_

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you liked the story!   
> Love Ariel


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